


Thalassophile

by novayee



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mermaids/Sirens, Ambiguous Relationships, Coming of Age, Drowning, Fluff, Gen, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Patton and Virgil are barely there, mostly focuses around Roman and Logan, there's also not to much mermaid action till the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 09:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novayee/pseuds/novayee
Summary: Roman had the blood of the sea running through his veins, bleeding from his wounds. It boiled underneath his layers of skin and bone when he was angry; it dried to cement dragging his limbs as he walked when his once chipper mood had dropped fully; it rose to the surface of his checks whenever he was complimented or praised, or whenever he laughed to hard doubling over from a joke not even that funny.Logan wouldn’t have been surprised if Roman had been presented to the land coming in on a seashell as Aphrodite did (at least in Sandro Botticelli’s depiction The Birth of Venus in 1486, but really after plenty of research and disagreements he figured she simply arrived, washed up on shore with no dramatics that Roman would have). A gift to the Earth.But those with the sea’s blood inside them always come back to where they’re from.





	Thalassophile

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:  
> -panic attack  
> -drowning  
> -bits of self doubt  
> If there's anything missing or I need to add please tell me!

The sand on the beach a half a mile away from Logan’s house was black. Not all of it, just some grains that shadowed the lighter shades being lapped by placid waves. The scenery of the beach was serene, easing, as if taken from from a Polaroid picture only colored dull. It was still too cold for most to come out and take it in though as the breeze had bite, and the waters were like pins and needles. The ocean’s breeze was nipping leaving brittle fingers red and cheeks flushed cold. 

Logan blew warm air in his cupped hands once more, the breath only lingering so long before catching the icy winds again. The windbreaker he brought was not enough for him to keep warm as the thin material was a poor armor against the changing seasons and insistent weather. He should have brought another. Gloves even would have been appropriate too. 

The scene washed in a duller storm of colors was off, the normal squeal of others gone and quiet. There were no families collecting rejected shells from the sea and adopting them into their care and home; no frats and others with fake tans and smiles all walking giddy with the newest gossip slipping from their lips; Virgil’s fleeting presence deemed mysterious was absent too, the waves were he would be surfing clapping against the black sand in loud protests and anguish. 

There was a squeal of glee in the background. Logan looked up from his biting hands. 

There was his best friend dancing the the waters, flouncing feet kicking up drops of water and black sand, uncaring of the bright red that his toes and heels turned up. Roman stood there, his being almost belonging in the sweep of the breeze and caress of the ocean. He didn’t seem bothered by the frozen air, taking it with large leaps and grins opting to leave the jacket tied around his waist. 

Roman had the blood of the sea running through his veins, bleeding from his wounds. It boiled underneath his layers of skin and bone when he was angry; it dried to cement dragging his limbs as he walked when his once chipper mood had dropped fully; it rose to the surface of his checks whenever he was complimented or praised, or whenever he laughed to hard doubling over from a joke not even that funny.  

Logan wouldn’t have been surprised if Roman had been presented to the land coming in on a seashell as Aphrodite did (at least in Sandro Botticelli’s depiction  _ The Birth of Venus  _ in 1486, but really after plenty of research and disagreements he figured she simply arrived, washed up on shore with no dramatics that Roman would have). A gift to the Earth. 

But those with the sea’s blood inside them always come back to where they’re from. 

On the days when there was time and the sky promised adventure Roman’s smile always grew larger as they ran to the sandy shores of the beach, sharper in every aspect when in came to the water. He took to the water and sand and sky as if he would never see it again. Savoring the salt against his skin and waves to his palms. 

Every time he would turn to Logan with a pertinent grin offering his hand and the open sea. Every time Logan digressed pushing it away. 

Once Roman did try and pulled Logan into the ebbing waves, reaching for his toes with hands that clawed the black sand, but after thoroughly protesting the thought he settled for dragging him as far down the shore as Logan would allow. 

Logan wasn’t afraid of the water. He insisted that just as much as he had protested. It was just a waste of time, and uncomfortable. His heartbeat didn’t race when the tide grew and tried to grab his feet. His eyes never blew wide as he tugged Roman away after to long of a visit, the ocean’s hold climbing higher. It just wasn’t practical. So he wasn’t afraid, just annoyed. Bothered. Irked.

“Hey! Hey Logan, check it!” His eyes snapped up to his friend who launched himself into a flurry of cartwheels. “WHOO!” He cheered and whooped and hollered and beamed, hopping from splashes that lipped around his heels that caressed them in cold kisses. “So am I absolutely awesome or what?” 

“To some degree I suppose,” Logan called back. Roman’s pointed smile grew with the crashing waves. Logan felt a chill shudder down his back. From the wind. He wasn’t scared. Obviously. “Are you ready to head back now? This break stretched on far more than I thought it would and we have yet to complete our history essays.” 

“Oh come on! Do we really have to go, Lo? Mrs. Harper can’t truly expect us to finish the whole thing during our break. She shouldn’t be aloud to have that power to assign essays during break. Like she can’t, it goes against the unspoken rule.” 

“Yes she can, she has every power to do so. You know full well that’s not how her class operates Roman.”

“No I really didn’t, thank you so much for enlightening me. Truly this knowledge has brought light to my world, never will I face the darkness of the unknown alone again! And we give it all to your services wise warlock Logan.”

A grimace crossed Logan’s features. “You are a —” 

“A joy? Treasure? The best? Amazing? Unable to do no wrong? A gift from the sea? Angel? Genius? God-send?”   
“—an idiot for lack of a better term.” 

“ _ Gasp _ ! I can’t believe this betrayal! How dare you call me such you nerd!”

“Prep!”

Roman stuck out his tongue but dragged himself from the ocean’s clasp abiding to his friend’s call finally. Before leaving he turned on his heels calling back with a wave, “see you later!” The same he did every time as they left. 

Once Logan did try and had asked of the curious habit. The dripping wistfulness was washed over with a grainy smile. “Why not?” Roman replied. “The ocean even waves back.” Logan had groaned, but still found the answer too offbeat. 

It was clipped and inordinate. A fabrication and a lie, but not the same and not exact. Just the not truth.  

But Logan had stopped questioning him long ago.

 

**_________**

 

 

“Damn glad that guy died,” Roman mutters while thumbing ahead a few pages. “This story  _ has _ to be told from the villain's point of view. Ugh, just awful.” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Like they whole plot could have been something cool! Teaming up with the whale to defeat the evils that lie under the surface of the sea —” 

“Mhmm.” 

“ —or  have the main character try and save the whale and get magic powers. I don’t see why they’re trying to  _ kill  _ him for protecting himself and being alive!”

“Mhmm.” 

“And  _ another _ thing —!” His rant falls slack along with his pointed hand and pose. “You’re not even listening, are you?”

“Mhmm. Yes I have been paying mind to what you’ve been saying, but I am just electing not to entertain your antics. While I will concede a few points to your dislike to the novel, this piece of nautical fiction is not themed around where you’re complaints stem,” Logan flips down the ear of the page. He turns to face the latter lounged across his bed, feet pulled up and book turned in his hands. “In  _ Moby Dick  _ the whale is simply a metaphor for what we cannot control, one of the mysteries that still remain in our world. Out of sight, out of mind.” 

Roman quickly spits back, a match ablaze in his eyes. “Alas by hook or by crook this peril too shall be something we remember, there will be killing until the score is paid.” 

“We are both talking of different matters still, for an iron of itself draws a man thereto.”  

“My every impulse bends to what is right,” Roman muttered, then pressed himself up from his slouching before asking, “Odyssey, right?”

“Correct.”

His laugh is sharp again. “By Poseidon you really are such a nerd.” Logan doesn’t choose to glare pointedly and say, “and so are you”. He instead chose to notice how his lips are quirked, how the wrinkles on his forehead cease as he skims back into the story and ink of the pages. He notices how Roman presses closer to him and how he finds warmth coiling inside himself.

It’s strange how undone Logan becomes around Roman. He feared it at first, it was unpredictable and could pull him under yanking him under and dragging him until he couldn’t be dragged any longer. A bit of him still was apprehensive but he had already found a home in Roman, both loyal to one another through their peril. 

So he allowed himself to be taken by wishes and belief (the things Roman always insisted on), falling asleep soon after casting aside his reading.

 

**_________**

 

 

Logan woke to a hand snaked across his chest and heart beat shallow under a loose fitting t-shirt. It wasn’t the first time, and Roman offered warmth and comfort in his heavy rest, so Logan never minded whenever it arised. He let his eyes blink a few times, unsure if he was slipping into or out of sleep before swallowing down a yawn. 

7:48 was an annoying sight that blared in a too bright florid green. 

He lets his head fall back again, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be sleeping again. The mornings like this are slow. Slow wakings, slow retorts, slow smiles still genuine. It’s different from the speed they both take life at but appreciated save for the uncombed clothing and hair. A clingy hug and sleep drunk giggles. 

On a normal day he would have woken Roman up and forced him into routine, the two of them shoulder to one another eating breakfast, brushing their teeth, judging Roman’s insistence of his five choices for outfits that had become a permanent fixture in Logan’s closet. He would twirl in his fourth dodging the book thrown by Logan, then Roman would complain at the false lack of appreciation and hostility. Logan—who points that for fact Roman will be aesthetically pleasing to most of the population no matter what garb he decides on dressing himself in—would frown and throw another book.

But it wasn’t a normal day and the routine was always forgotten on the few off days they had. Sometimes they would sleep in for an ornery amount of time; sometimes one of them would have waken the other at dawn and run around the seaside town, laughing as stores and shops roused, their lights blearily blinking on; sometimes they wouldn’t have slept at all, opting to enjoy the company of thousands of flickering stars that curtained the night sky. 

7:51. 

Logan ducked his head to Roman’s shoulder, pressed closer to which he would later call and accident blaming it on unconscious sleeping positions. He smelled of coconut and honeysuckle.

And sometimes they would bask in one another's company as a cat stretched in warmth of the sun, and would not fear how the world seemed to drown around them.

 

**_________**

 

 

They all know a storm is coming. The air breaths for a myriad of chaos, cold and bitter, anticipating the havoc soon to be reckoned with. Waves of too cold breezes that he wasn’t used to washed the port down to a bitter temperature. The towns deals with the light showers of rain and the beach being closed off for protocol and safety, though Logan could care less because it wasn’t like he sought out going to the beach much like everyone else (not because he was scared of it, it just didn’t bring any sort of enjoyment for him). 

So the knock of branches against his window was expected, this nights stirring a bit harsher than previous. It wasn’t until the knocking became a bit more insistent did Logan figure it was a different sort of storm. 

He opened it to a dewy Roman raindrops slipping of beading at his edges and corners, soaking the now sodden carpet in a puddle of drip drops. 

“Oh for the love of science Roman,” Logan mumbles already repeating actions done before. Grab a set of his clothes already there from the closet, fetch a blanket, and prepare to listen to either a winded rant or wide-eyed idea that shone alight in his eyes. “Why have you decided to venture in turbulent weather such as this? I know you would not risk your authentically styled hair simply for merely visiting me.” 

But Roman stays quiet—drying himself of colds slips of rain, the warmth of the room hugging around him leaving a sea of shivers rippling down his spine—and it’s strange. Because Roman is loud. Roman is the roars of ideas. Roman is the burst of songs from morning birds. Roman is the crashing of waves and the whistle of the wind. Roman demands to be heard, he is not quiet and shy; at least until something is wrong. 

Logan swallows thickly. “Are you satisfactory Roman?” 

“You use such big words all the time,” Roman says and it’s not an answer. “How do you never, like, mess them up or get tongue tied? Like whenever I get a new script for a play I always read it too fast out loud and it’s the most ridiculous and humiliating thing. Just ask freaking Amelia, she keeps videotapes of my beginning struggles and perils.”

“Amelia?” Logan plays along. “You mean Amelia Bradford?” 

“No,” Roman snorts. “I was talking about Amelia Earhart.” 

“Oh, then in that case it’s curious how you perform in your theater productions alongside a pilot from 1897 that disappeared while flying along the Atlantic Ocean. Yes, very curious indeed.” 

“I was using sarcasm, nerd.” 

“As was I, prep.” 

The silence settles over them as a heavy blanket, enveloping them in a familiar semblance colored calm. Roman follows Logan as he drops himself onto his bed, not even going to mention or complain how his friend is still damp and instead pulling the ends of a blanket to their shoulders. He waits patiently. 

“Do you,” Roman starts then stops again trying to pretend his voice hadn’t cracked so quickly. “Do you ever feel like you don’t belong? Like there’s no place for you no matter where you go? Because you weren’t good enough the first time so you run away like they told you to but you’re still just too  _ different _ and  _ strange _ for other people.”

“No, I myself don’t often feel as if I don’t belong, though I do understand others viewing you different because you aren’t a lined with the statistique. But I know I always have a place, a place with my mom and you, Roman. Why do you feel this way though?” 

“I don’t know. I just, it’s just that—I don’t know. Sometimes when I don’t feel I belong here I run to the ocean and sometimes it feels I don’t belong there either. I don’t belong anywhere, and I’m running out of places to try and belong. I mean, up next I guess is the sky but I hate heights.”

“And for the fact it would be impossible for you to reside in the sky at this current period of time because we have not yet developed the proper technology,” Logan says pointedly and Roman groans, flipping closer as an arm falls across his chest. 

“Ugh, just let me dream a little here.” 

It takes Logan two counts of ten to pick up the covering quiet before it becomes to quiet again, because  _ this _ is important. He doesn’t understand Roman—not fully at least—because Roman is a complex thing that no one can properly study and determine how exactly his inner workings take. 

He knows that Roman likes to sleep in but never goes to bed early, and prefers to go explore under the sun rather than lounge under it. That he doesn’t like to stay at his foster home and gets antsy when lost to the walls of it. He swims and doesn’t care to get wet like Logan does, but always forgets to drink enough water. He performs in plays and searches for love and has a beauty mark that is usually masked by unneeded layers of foundation. Logan knows that Roman always waves goodbye when leaving the sea, but he doesn’t understand why. 

Roman’s creativity and thoughts were too much like the ocean, fluid and always skimming with drifting ideas catching them in straying fishnets. The only difference is that Roman’s mind felt so much more vast than the sea did at times. Reaching ample lengths and barely discovered, it was brimming with so much it was constantly threatening to tip over the edge. 

It was also to be noted as reckless and brash and utterly stupid, spinning itself into swirling currents a lot of times and that was what Logan struggled to understand. So while he might not understand Roman at times he  _ knows _ him. 

“Roman,” Logan whispers when they get too close to drifting off. “You do have a place where you belong. Here, with mom and I. If that is you would like.”

And his skin is ablaze and on fire as Roman smiles against his open arm. “Yeah. That would be perfect, Lo.”

 

**_________**

 

 

Roman can be pushy, just tipping over the edge of the cliff, but never falling.

Logan appreciates how he’s learning; learning to be considerate of his space and his boundaries and his stopping point. He likes how Roman asks him if he would be willing to go to some party held by a name of unimportance, and shrugging like he doesn’t care. Because he does care, Roman cares a lot, that’s who he is. 

He cares what Logan has to say, he cares about his interests even though they don’t spark that same light in him, he cares how Logan is feeling (which Logan isn’t good at sometimes). Roman has a big heart, Logan sometimes believes it’s bigger than his own in a way that's scientifically incorrect. 

So Logan nods and says he’ll come for a little while—knowing that Roman cares enough to take his warning with no protests, cares enough to ditch with him for a theory video about Disney on YouTube, the next day the two of them finding out the cops had come forty minutes after their departure. 

They’re very different in many ways, but they find that it doesn’t matter much.

 

**_________**

 

 

The two of them are both similar in the sense that they don’t admit to having fears because the two of them are similar like that. They don’t like to be weak and fear is a delicate tightrope that could drop them to their flaws.

So whole Logan resolutely denies being afraid of the water (because he  _ isn’t _ , it’s just preference not to go in the ocean, and take baths, and think to long on how big and vast the sea spans; beside he can drink water with no problem and take showers so there’s no need to make a problem of it) Roman is just as adamant to say that he doesn’t care for rejection (because he claims that someone as great as him don’t hang themselves on others opinions). 

Still there is one thing that they will openly be afraid of. 

Olivia Berry, Logan’s mother. 

She was 5’11 with thin lips almost permanently pursed and short, dark curls left lax in a flop on her head. While she dressed Logan up insisting on the idea that first impressions were important Olivia simply gave up when it came to her, lazily dressing herself in t-shirts found in the corner of her dresser drawers and a pair of jeans that seemingly never seemed to change; but where she faltered at taking care of herself, she strived elsewhere, her son and house being a different matter. They were kept prim and immaculate. Kitchen sleek, living room chic, bedrooms orderly, and son trimmed. 

That’s why—when even looking past her disheveled self—people were surprised at her entourage of affliction she puts into her emotions. Anger being the worst. 

Her hair remained even more off a tangled net than normal, and her mouth kept as so thin it could have been a fishing line. “You two let loose the sea turtles that the marine scientists were keeping in captivity.” 

“We rescued them from imprisonment!” Roman cries before blinking, and realizing who it was he was trying to defend himself from. The frenzied rage clouds over. “Dr. Berry,” he adds a moment after. 

“I’m not saying what they did is right and that what you did is morally wrong, but it was dangerous. There was a warning about the beach just yesterday and those scientist have been going farther out for their studies. My team and I are still trying to figure out what it is they’re trying to find but they aren’t safe.” 

“Exactly, it wasn’t safe for the sea turtles! The sea is their home, and while it might be unruly and treacherous at times it is a beautiful thing that they belong in.” 

“I wasn’t talking about the sea turtles, Roman.” 

“Mom—” Logan intervenes though he’s not sure what he’s going to try and argue here, because he knows not to whenever his mother is trying to scold them. 

(This has happened often enough before; them coming back from a party Roman dragged him to, the incident where they were picked up by the police for breaking the curfew of the park to look at stars, and the-never-to-be-uttered-again-accident which was never to be spoken of again.)

“And Logan,” his mom continues. “You don’t even like the ocean!” And he blushes because it’s true, but the truth is embarrassing and one he hates heard admitted, especially from his mother. 

Both of them keep quiet, barely coming for breaths in the drowning silence, confidence sinking and hopelessness tethering them afloat. 

Olivia stares at the two boys (who she had considered both her sons) and taken them off guard with a lamented sigh. “Alright, you two go hit the showers and go to bed. Lights off. Tomorrow you’ll both be helping my team and I transport some equipment from the lab,” she orders and they listen attentively. “And don’t,” his mom says. “Don’t go messing around like this anymore, at least until this storm passes.” 

They tell her yes, but don’t promise it and she says nothing on it as the trudge to the bathroom. Olivia doesn’t hear as Roman worries over other possible captives, and she doesn’t hear when her son suggests they go to check a few nights later. 

What she does hear is the clips of tapping keys and a report being wrote up by her, about the strange activities of the scientists. She hears her thoughts running amok storming through her mind with loud howls and sharp lashes only being silenced by voiced complaints of Roman and Logan the next day, her laughter joining in with them momentarily.

 

**_________**

 

 

The Monday after a too short break rolls around to soon, or at least that what Roman complains of in the early waking of dawn. Logan says nothing (after all how can it ‘roll around to soon’ if the hours never change in speed or degree) but he let’s him rant for the first fifteen minutes before interrupting and setting them back on the normal routine. 

They walk into the school and prepare for the familiar faces, all with slight changes and modifications, the same but different since the start of break. 

Roman is well received in the scrutiny of the social standing. He’s charming when it comes to, and is handsome enough for it to be stupid to try and think otherwise. Paired with a backstory of abandonment, rejection, and loose ends left unsaid all wrapped in caramel hair and cerulean eyes of the sea, he’s a mystery that makes for the perfect present. His choices are tabbed by others and met with usually adoring looks; with his football practice, theater rehearsals and shows, Spanish club, music classes, and more that Logan still hasn’t figured out how he does it without getting overwhelmed or overbooked. 

“I swear it’s like a time turner from Harry Potter or some other bullshit,” his friend Virgil muttered once in passing, as Roman hurried off with a wave goodbye to yet another rehearsal. The same sort he did at the beach whenever he and Logan take time to trek the sinking sand. 

That’s one of the not as well received choices he makes though; spending so much time with Logan. On the social ladder of the schools hierarchy Logan stands lower with no sights on climbing higher. He’s titled a nerd or a geek by some, and a robot or a cold emotionless tool by others—usually the rudder types. He’s never minded but the names bring a dismal look of disbelief across Roman’s more attractive and liked features. Roman pouted and protested the teases as he does, only easing slightly when Logan told him off, saying it was fine and that it didn’t bother him. 

“You do know you’re not some emotionless robot, right?” Roman had asked. 

“Of course,” Logan had replied automatically, with not enough time to know if it had been a lie or not. 

Still Roman had nodded gratefully with something earnest on his face, slinging an arm and reeling their sides together. “Good. Just because you’re not as good with firguing out our feelings compared to others doesn’t mean you don’t have them. Because you do Logan, you have a lot of them and they are all wonderful and they’re why we make a good team.”

Roman always said that they’re a good team, a force to be reckoned with. Which is true in some sends because together they are formidable. The clash of fantasy and reality working intertwined, where fiction is forced past the molds of fact. 

But just because Roman believes they work well with one another doesn’t mean everyone else does. So in the morning Roman flashes him an apologetic smile—all white and perfect—and a pat on his shoulder before being dragged off by a girl name Amelia and another named Remy. Logan doesn’t watch for long, just until he’s disappeared in the waves of the sea of students before continuing the normal routine by following it to his locker, where a surfer who dresses in black hoodies waits. 

“Salutations Virgil.”

The other smirked, never a full smile but real all the same. “Sup nerd. Welcome back to this hellhole.” 

Logan hums in acknowledgment. 

“You got Mrs. Harper’s essay done?” 

He hums again.

“Nice, I’m looking at that later to compare ours. Anyway, I hear that you and Princey over there went and freed some captive turtles,” Virgil continues. Logan isn’t surprised, it’s a small town by the seashore and word travels fast. It’s just that no one had approached them on it trying to work it in forced polite conversation with no results, but Virgil doesn’t care for forced polite conversation—only the truth. 

It’s one of the reasons they get along—besides from the dry humor and disappointment of other classmate’s stupidity—they don’t find a need for short pleasantries. They’re blunt and to the point, unlike Roman who insists on them that they should at least be softer (“because it’s  _ polite _ Logan,” and for reasons that Logan knows but still struggles to understand, Roman has always been working to being liked. Perhaps it’s why he always waves back to the ocean). 

“Yes. You’ve heard correctly.” 

Virgil snorts. “Nice. Those guys that had them were totally assholes so I’ve been told. Like no care for the species in the ocean at all. They were going to be forced to release them soon anyway because they didn’t have a permit or anything to keep them, but you guys letting them out probably was better,” his smirk widens. “Was definitely funny as shit.”

“I am glad our rescue effort was found amusing for you,” Logan replies. 

“Yeah. It really, really was pocket protector. Anyway, I’m going surfing later today, trying to get as much in before the storm comes and they close off the beach for good instead of warnings.” 

Logan frowned with little to no confusion. “I thought you took those warnings seriously?” 

“I do, but Pat did some research and other stuff and said that it should be fine for now unless I got a problem with wind and a little rain.” Patton was Virgil’s older brother, a marine biologist who worked alongside his mother (which explained how he knew more about the turtle rescue than most), because living here the ocean was a big part of everyone’s lives and so taking up a career like that made sense; and, of course, because Patton had a kind heart and goal to make the world better in anyway he could, insisting to start where most things evolved from. “Anyway you wanna join me?” 

“No, I cannot,” Logan says, and though he enjoys Virgil’s company it’s not enough to drag him out to the shore. Simply because the sand is a nuisance when it’s windy and he considers the warnings, nothing more. “Roman and I are going to check out those scientist again to make sure they didn’t try and recapture any animals.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I don’t know, it’s just bad rumors have spread around those guys. Like they’re looking for something or experimenting of some species, but whatever they’re doing it sounds like bad news,” Virgil says. 

“Yes,” Logan agrees. “I’ve heard.” 

“Wow,” Virgil finally says after a moment to long. “Roman must’ve influenced you. I’ve never seen you so reckless.”

The bell rings before Logan can reply.

 

**_________**

 

 

Logan and Roman were different. 

Roman attempts at cooking always ended in smoke and charcoal, Logan could bake delicacies that would impress a professional (or so he’d been told). To Logan the learnings school were important; to Roman to people of school were important. Plays are seen as frivolous and loud by Logan, but magical and important to Roman. While Logan has a favorite Disney movie being Big Hero 6, Roman can’t decide crying that he loves them all too much. Roman’s dated three people which is three more people than Logan has. Roman has rough skin (almost scaly) and Logan has smooth skin. Roman hides his secrets with a fire and Logan never mentions his. Roman loves the ocean and Logan says he’s indifferent.   

But they also have similarities. They both love Crofters Jam, and they cower when Logan’s mom is mad. When there’s something unjust going on they investigate and problem solve. They struggle with constructive criticism and hate having others help. They both don’t admit to having fears because it’s easier not to. Sometimes when the other is upset they go through the normal list of things that help, and if it doesn’t they run in the middle of the night to look at stars. 

They also really care for one another.

 

**_________**

 

 

Three days later the beach has been closed, and no evacuation has been issued so everyone expects the normal blustery storm or the rare scanty hurricane. Olivia has begun to gather enough food and water to last them through weeks because as she insists better to be prepared than not and dead, and Logan voices no complaints with that. Roman hangs around more saying that he wants to see his favorite nerd before being locked up in his foster home waiting for the calm to come after the storm.

They don’t discuss their second trip to the scientist’s camp openly—there’s nothing to tell, nothing else was found except scales and rocks—so they amble around the diner  _ Penguin’s  _ (a known ‘hang out place’ for most of their school, it’s common enough they meet with Virgil or walk in on their own for lunch) until they’ve had enough milkshakes to last until tomorrow and than Logan tides them over with talk of information about the upcoming storm as they avoid a place with ice cream and milkshakes instead; because  _ yes _ it’s completely  _ logical  _ to be worried over a storm. He wasn’t scared, just thinking of the inflicted damage and their costs. 

“So nerd,” Roman says while they stand on the boardwalk, winds whipping his caramel curls, soft eyes squinting to avoid black grains of sand. It’s almost empty, except for those few desperate vendors, but it’s the closet they can get to the beach. “Will this end up being another hurricane?” 

“There is a 39.028% chance that this will form into a hurricane, and if it were to be one it would only be a category one hurricane. Those have winds 74 to 95 miles per hour, no faster than a cheetah. But the wind speeds have only reached 62 at most during this past week and no definite eye has been formed. Besides it uncommon for them to form so close to the shore, normally they start in the ocean and move closer, the ends hitting where humans have set up civilizations.” 

“Fascinating,” but he’s not really listening. “So what’s faster than a cheetah?” 

“Pronghorn antelope, peregrine falcon, frigate bird, sailfish,” Logan lists. “And hurricanes.”

He feels something warm and comforting in the snort of laughter from Roman that gets caught up in the burst of wind. “Of course,” Roman says gently before grinning loudly again. “But like an antelope faster than a cheetah? That’s pretty lit.” 

“Well just barely, the faster record set by a cheetah was 61 miles per hour in 2011. The fastest a pronghorn antelope can run is around 60 miles per hours average.” Logan’s brows furrow in open confusion. “Lit,” he tries on his tongue. “I’m not familiar with that word. Is it another one of those common slang vocabulary I need to learn?” 

“Yup.” 

“Damn it.” 

And Roman laughs again, the noise rumbling inside his chest and breaking through harder than what should have been from a barely passing funny joke. Maybe it was just the flight of euphoria, the high of it making him giddy and flustered over nothing really amusing.

Logan asks him what he finds so amusing and Roman doubles over again, the height of it all crashing in giggles. They go back and forth with the jabs, in a useless complicated game of catch, but they’ve gotten good at it over the years. Don’t have your quips hurl into offensive, your stunt cutting. Take notice of the glow in one another’s eyes and don’t let it die because then it’s game over. It continues like that for minutes or hours blurred by seconds, the only one keeping time of the passing moments was the alpine cloak stationed above the boardwalk’s midst. 

At least until he comes to the fact that the wind speeds have hastened. And the ocean has become more frenzied in turn. And the waves were reaching further. And they were trying to grab him. And pull him under. And drown him. And die.  

Logan’s breathing picks up, labored by his own irrationality. He blinks a few times wondering if it had rained as his sight blurs, trying to blink them away only to feel the trail of a tear thread down his cheek. His knuckles are bleached by the grip he holds on the splintering wood, not even caring if they get caught in the folds of his fleshy skin. 

Because right now he feels he is drowning and sinking sinki _ ng sinking _ , unable to breath and unable to think and unable to move as his blood runs thick as cement. Then everything stops. 

A balled piercing through the howling walls of wind and a hysteria. 

It has a gentle air, notes smooth as the sea during the calm before the storm. It dips and rises, and during it Logan’s unsure if the sounds are words or simply notes being expressed through something deep within. It’s exotic but so familiar. 

Logan’s heard Roman sing before, all in silly tones and attempts where he tries so hard they’re fake. He’s heard him in the school plays too (and though he can’t stand them, he always makes an effort to show up to one, and after they will go to order fries from a crappy fast food restaurant or the diner where Logan will berate the ingredients used and Roman will shovel an ungodly amount into his mouth) but in those he’s performed in character, a mask that muffles the true bloom of his voice. 

It ends all too quickly, leaving Logan and the storm dumbfounded for a few moments. 

When he comes back to himself he realizes how even the howling of the winds and claps of the waves have calmed to listen to the song. 

“Was that you?” Logan asks illogically and stupidly. “Did you do that?”

Roman scoffs. “I know my voice is a gift from the gods and praised by the angels, but I think you’re adding a bit to much to my ego to say it’s magical too.” He glances around, his eyes lingering a little too long on the hushed beach before forcing them back to Logan, lacing his hardened fingers with Logan’s longer ones. “I just sang to calm you down a little. You looked...spooked. Now c’mon nerd, tell me those stupid facts. I’ll even cross my heart and pinkie promise that I’ll listen.” He won’t. He never does. Instead he’ll feel the words with the hand still holding Logan’s. And Logan let’s him. 

Later when Roman snores softly at the foot of his bed, and Logan is left only able to stare at the glow in the dark stars they had put up together two years ago with one of his mom’s astronomy books to make accurate constellations, he thinks back to how his friend paled. And how despite the cold of the beach, Roman’s hand was clammy in the grasp. And how he, like Logan, now saw the ocean as a hindrance, because they both weren’t scared and neither would ever admit to it. 

But what irked Logan the most about it is that he hadn’t even waved goodbye to ocean in goodbye.

 

**_________**

 

 

Logan liked reasoning through thought provoking questions, as it was something to ponder on giving him needed distractions at times. Most times they were about physics, space, and the creation of the universe; sometimes they were about feelings, emotions, and the things that encouraged normal people. The things he knew of but didn’t understand. 

Question: if one person cares for another person, to a point where they could define it as love (platonic or romantic), then why do they always feel the itch to leave? 

School was closed and all classes cancelled for the next four days in wake of the wait for the storm. The 39.028% chance it was to turn into a hurricane was increasing at high rates. Roman had been called home on the same day as he, Logan, and Virgil were hanging out as last goodbyes for the succeeding days. They were painting one another’s nails; Virgil’s a black (like his soul, he claimed), Roman’s red with gold accents (gotta be extra, he smiled), and Logan’s the same blue he uses everytime they do this. Roman complained sure enough saying his nails still had to finish drying and that they were going to watch a Disney movie, but ultimately slung an arm around Logan in goodbye giving Virgil a fist-bump before, before sauntering off with a wave and a promise of a call. 

Virgil and Logan watch the entire of Buzzfeed Unsolved after, nitpicking at one another’s different views (Logan was a definite Shaniac, and Virgil couldn't convince him otherwise to join the side of the Boogaras, no matter how hard he tried) and tossing boxed crackers at one another as they huddle under a blanket for their own warmth, definitely not because they’re scared. Soon Patton comes to pick Virgil up too (only leaving twenty minutes later after him and his mother talk and excessive amount about work and their current project). 

Olivia goes to start to reheat old leftover take out after they’ve gone as Logan stares at the first drops of rain.  

Answer: because, feeling so much is overwhelming and sometimes, people find it easier to deal with denial and separation than love and happiness. 

They eat together, rarely often enough—the dinner consisting of sharing of facts, quick quiz questions from his mom, no forced pleasantries added, and the usual agreement of a documentary to watch later that night. As Logan finishes off his second slice of cheap pizza he tread back to his own room. It’s left the same, and Roman’s left behind his jacket again. Logan goes to slip it on the first hook next to his own windbreaker on the second. 

Question: can feelings for someone be fake? An illusion crafted by years and years of practiced hope? 

The window is left open. Logan swears he can hear the waves clashing with land than peeling back, being dragged down to the rest. He shudders. The room ran cold, closing shut his window with the cobalt curtains flying down to settle with ease. 

It’s going to start raining soon, he comes to realize while flicking at the pages of his latest book.  _ Alice in Wonderland _ rests in his hands as he lounges on his bed, a pile stacked on the night table next to him with titles of  _ Moby Dick _ ,  _ Narnia _ , and the third of the  _ Harry Potter  _ series. His attention on the inked words is only pulled away from at a follow of beeps and bings. 

He stares at his phone, alight with Virgil’s reassurance of arriving him alright and the signature of some snarky comment. That’s the only notification showing on the galaxy screen. 

Answer: you can indeed fool yourself like that, and others can fool you too. 

Logan’s mind is as rampant as the assail of rain that runs to the earth outside. It sounds of the beach are in his head, the salt of it a second skin he can’t wash off. He takes a step back for a moment, a look into the window from the outside. In the growing storm. 

It’s easier to do that, to hold a tight grasp on your thoughts (that unfortunately come with feelings) before they fly out of control. Still he can’t fully keep a grip the ones that remind him of the last time Roman hadn’t called, the time he hadn’t went ahead to ramble about things pointless in the big scheme but not so to him, and never hanging up until the storm cut away their connection, his finger twirling the cord unable to meander about without it. Aesthetic, he’ll say later and complain how he wishes he could have taken a selfie of it. 

Question: would you put yourself into dangerous and risk for someone close enough to you?

He dials the only number in relation to Roman, receiving to an old rotary phone owned by his foster parents that they never answer. It stays in the once-guest-room-now-Roman’s-room. 

Roman never had one of his own because of the strain of money, shrugging and saying that it’s probably for the best because if he were to have one he would have lost it in the school or sand. But when he had seen Logan’s (an older model of the iPhone Logan had picked at prodded at so it would work faster) he had been completely captivated by the hypnotics of it’s white florid glow and spinning of glossy lights. 

The rest of the day followed the discovery with selfies and stupid made up stories of the non-existent plots of it’s free app games. The fifth picture taken—the one that was the most flattering, or so Roman claimed—had been printed and tacked alongside of one of his mom and another of Virgil standing next to Patton at his graduation. 

It’s the third try and still no one has answered the insistent ringing.

As the screen flicks back on he tries again. 

Answer: yes. Every time. 

When Olivia does to check for her son she noticed that his windbreaker jacket is missing from the second hanger. 

 

**_________**

 

 

“Where is he?” Logan had looked everywhere. The school, the park, the 7-11, the cafe, his own house, every damn place that Roman would have left him to. Above them the storm aged, building in spikes of anger. Wind whipped up dirt and dust, his hair and the cuffs of his thinly lined jacket, racing in challenge with his frantically beating heart. Logically coming here should have been the first point to check, but Roman’s never been one for that. 

Roman’s foster parents — Ava and Mason a kind couple Logan barely interacted with, and Roman scarcely mentioned — shared a look. “I’m sorry Logan, we don’t know,” Ava admitted grasping onto the other’s offered hand. “We’ve called the police and they’ve told us to just stay home, but with this weather I’m just so worried — ” 

She closed a hand over her rising sob. Mason clasped her shoulders letting her lean into his offered comfort. He turned to Logan, to propose a ride or shelter to hold out in while they all waited for the storm to die enough for him to go home. 

But Logan had already left. 

Logan’s first frenzied thought had actually been a lie. Not everywhere. There was still on place that his friend would be dense enough to venture to, but just hadn’t expected it. Especially not after it had shaken up Roman so bad days before.  

The beach was the worse off in the storm.

He could see it from the pathway that lead to the higher cliffs. He saw how the gray and rain had leached from the color of it. Waves being galvizined to storm the shore with a giant's stomp. It was easier for them to conquer the barer parts of the beach, but even with rocks and cliffs they simply bowled over with loud splashes and claps when an impact was made. 

Logan shook, but he wasn’t sure if it was only the cold racking shivers along his spine. 

He travels further until a shock of color against the dull scrim. Red. 

“Roman!” Logan calls out. His friend jumps, despite the howls that circle around him, still so close to the edge. His expression is washed over by pellets of rain that fall around them and Logan can’t tell if it’s surprise of sadness that colors his eyes. 

“Logan, you shouldn't be here!” Roman says. 

Roman is right, he shouldn't be here. Neither of them should, and that’s why Logan took another step closer. Nearing to where Roman stood precariously. “Neither should you. What were you thinking Roman? It’s dangerous out here! The storm is going to be at its worst.” 

“No, no it’s fine Logan. I swear —you should just get home. Leave before you get hurt!” 

“And let you get injured instead?” Logan demanded, the distance between them less now. “Roman quit being so stubborn and foolish, and come with me back home.” 

“I’m not being stubborn and foolish, Logan!” 

“ _ Yes you are _ ,” Logan shrills as they both take another step, him to Roman and Roman to the plummeting depth of the sea below. “Roman stop it!” He wants to gasp out a please but his throat chokes at that and something warm, despite the whirlwind of cold around them, wells in the corners of his eyes. 

“Logan I’m serious right now,” Roman says nervously. “This is really dangerous nerd, you have to leave now.”  
“And then what will you do after I go?” No reply, Roman’s head ducked lower with shy glances to the cliff’s edge, and Logan’s point was proven. “I’m not leaving without you, Roman.” 

“You must! Logan I swear to Poseidon you must—” he stops, suddenly. 

“Roman!” 

It all happened so fast—in one moment he was dizzily watching Roman’s panic stricken expression, the next Logan had rushed to the end of the cliff with Roman gone. Toppled off the end. Fallen overboard. His scream was raw, ripping the insides of his throat, feelings and emotions flooding through, anguish and sadness. The wind spun around him faster as he took a few steps back. The waves climb the rocky sides all the same, the storm still brewing, ploughing the grass with pelting rain. He couldn’t see Roman down there. 

Those with the blood of the sea in their veins always return one way or another, even in the midst of a storm. 

And finally (in a moment of weakness, a moment where he was stripped bare and exposed), Logan admitted to the fear that cemented his blood, the fear that keep his grounded in the gale, the fear he had of the ocean. It didn’t wash away with the pelting rain, it didn’t change how he felt. Still, it also didn’t stop him from acting so thoughtless and audacious and headlong. 

_ Roman must have influenced you, I’ve never seen you be so reckless. _

Reckless indeed. Logan must have captured more than just Roman’s bouts of confidence and joyous feelings after befriending him.   

The cliff side was tall, the grass both lively and fraying at some ends leading to the edge ripped in patches and the dirt and stone whipping up the the howls of wind. No domestic care of the sun peeked through the gray in the sky, unable to clear the cloak of dust over the soft blue of the sky. The sight lacked the lustful refinement that the area normal held pride in. Still it was enough to inspire something in him nonetheless. 

Yes, he had definitely gained something more from Roman that just confidence and a growing piety. 

Logan must had also taken some of his stupidity. 

He jumped from the cliff side plunging to surface of blue below.

 

**_________**

 

 

Logan’s drowning. He knows this (as he knows a lot of things) but still it feels unreal, a cross between falling and flying, dying and living. The rush of fear as spread by leaving him with a strange sense of vertigo, his head spiraling as he sank. He tastes salt on his lips and water pushing past useless gasps for air, but it can’t soothe the fire that burns his throat, ripping it apart. It’s not peaceful but not entirely thrilling either. 

Sinking. Sin _ kning _ .  _ Sinking _ . 

He tries to kick up and fails because Logan knows a many of things but he never learned how to swim. Once that panicked relocation settles in his thrashing become more frantic, more violent. A waste of his energy. All he knows now is that he wants to break the cerulean ceiling above him. 

There’s something else with him. But he’s  _ drowning _ .

_ Sinking _ .  _ Sinking _ .  _ Sinking _ . 

A shadow passes over him as his vision swims. He couldn’t break the surface. His kicks and struggles were doing nothing against the weight dragging him lower and lower. He can’t swim. He  _ can’t swim _ . 

_ Sinking _ .  _ Sinking _ . _ Sinking _ .

There’s a surface that brushes against his leg, a flicker of white in the span of blue. It isn’t scared by his futile but violent thrashes. A familiar touch grabs hold of his waist winding fingers and arms around him, his legs now flush against something not human. Logan blinks blurryily trying to fixtate of the profile in front of him. There’s a tail. With on flick is thrusts the two of them upward. With another Logan’s able to gasp for air. It tastes like salt and rain. 

He’s no longer sinking. 

He’s rising. 

And in front of him fixates a face he knows—even with the sharper teeth, and the slitted eyes that seem to glow, and the six slices that open his throat as gills, and the bits of scales that shine like pearls clumping on his tawny skin. He knows the face of his friend, despite the differences in persons.

Logan stares than blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “You have a tail!”  
“No—” Roman gasps head over the rocking of the waves, “Logan focus on staying above water!” Then more to himself he hushes a obligated, “oh my _god_ I can’t believe you jumped in after me.” 

“You have an actual tail!” 

“You said that already!” He ducked them under a wave that slapped the plane of rocking water. Logan grip tightened finding something solid in the fluid waters. He came up with an unrelenting hand on Roman’s bicep. When they came to again Roman was still muttering below the storms continuous furry. “Alright be calm Logan, I’m going to get us out of here. Trust me, everything's going to be alright.”

Yes, Roman was right. Everything was going to be fine. Lazy thoughts lulled Logan into a false peace, his mind at ease but heart still racing. It lasted until another wave crashed atop them for him to be snapped from the bait. The siren’s song. 

“Don’t do that,” he hisses though unsure what is exactly it was Roman did. “You never said you had a tail.” 

“Oh by the hearth of Hestia will you let that go! Yes, yes I have a tail get over it nerd! I can’t believe you’re actually trying to have the oh-my-god-you-have-a-cliche-magical-secret-that-could-absolutely-totally-be-from-a-TV-show right now as we’re drowning.” 

“I would like to know before I inevitably die,” Logan gasps over saltwater and rain. 

“Jeez, and I thought I was dramatic.” 

They duck under again, more of the sea tasting in his mouth and stinging in his eyes. He shuts them both even as they breach to the open air of the churning storm again. He felt himself moving, and was unsure if it was Roman’s doing of the water’s, but through it all Roman continued whispering reassurances —saying how they’re going to shore and how everything's going to be okay.

They weren’t, but Logan didn’t need to think about that right now. 

He needed to focus on something other than Roman’s song that could barely be heard over the roar of the wind or the rush of blood to his ears. He needed to ground himself. 

He felt how Roman’s hands wound around his waist, keeping them both afloat despite the pull trying to drag them down. 

The calloused hands were sharped, skin hardened by the wear of the waves and harsh of his home; but there was still the familiar touch underneath toughened skin. The gentle scrap of his clipped nails now pointed and security of his hands pulling him up and close. The warmth that seeped through his skin and bones, warming his chilled blood. A blanket against the colds waters. 

They were still Roman’s hands all the same. The ones that he complained about when a nail chipped, frowned at the roughness, pouring gallons of coconut motionizer (always coconut, because he claimed that the peach was a scam) in attempts to smooth over his flesh. 

The same ones that clapped Logan’s shoulder, held Logan’s hand, hugged Logan’s being, and brushed Logan’s tears away. 

Logan let out a shaky breath and leaned closer in to the warmth as they were bodily thrown about the ocean by the rage of the waves. He can almost feel as Roman’s tail frantically propels them closer to shore, fighting against the currents and tides. It’s a blur of white and quick movements. He can feel as the tension keeping him upright seeps, slipping into the pull of the ocean. His heartbeat flutters and slows as limbs become dull like driftwood. 

Roman jerks him. Awakening his muscles and opening his eyes. He murmurs for him to hold on, that they’re so close, just a little more. When he barely comes to again sand grinds against his skin, the grains not soft but gritty and hard with rocks and points of shells stirred in. 

With great efforts he lazily watches as Roman heaves his body and Logan’s further away so the ocean can’t touch them, drag them back like it does with it’s waves and lost shells. The white tail is still there left heavy on the sand. Roman’s chest is heaving, breaths coming out in little pants and puffs. 

When he collects enough of it again, he begins to sing. Soft and gently, blocking the harsh just outside of the little bubble it creates. Logan finds himself involuntarily easing at the sound. 

It’s not the siren song that lures him to rest, but the familiarity and belonging of Roman’s weight by his side , and the kiss feather-light that crowned his forehead. He blacks out as the tune fades to the wails of ambulances the warmth at his side hurrying away.

 

**_________**

 

 

Logan remembers very little from his almost drowning incident. He can’t recall all the exact events that followed, or the feelings that came with it (but there’s a dull ache that feels like a faded scar, and he figures that’s the closet he’ll get to remembering). 

He knows he is stuck—the small hospital (barely-considered-one-kinda-small) insisted on having him—and while the knowledge of that is something grounding in the sorts, it's also something bothersome. 

Logan doesn’t like the idea of being stuck, trapped behind the unbreakable bars of the hospital. At their complete mercy. Pathetic. Weak. Fragile. 

Perhaps he was being a bit dramatic. Still, the white rooms and blandness of it all was off putting, they smell of sick and death and birth in the air no matter how many air fresheners were strewn about. It wasn’t the same white as the chemistry lab, where it was thick in scents that were too tangy and acid. It feels as if it’s set up so carefully, to make sure he doesn’t break again, because that would be an inconvenience of the hospital. 

So he decides to focus on things other than being stuck as Roman walks in the room, a little visitor tag with a smiley face stickered to his tank top. 

“You’re a mermaid.” It’s the first thing he says. Roman nods, not denying and Logan is unsure what emotion blooms in his chest at that. 

“A siren actually,” Roman says weakly gripping his biceps and weakly smiling. “Surprise?” 

“Funny,” Logan deadpans. “But not amusing. So do tell, what the  _ fuck _ just happened?” 

“I don’t know much about what actually happened myself,” Roman says. 

“Well it would have been really nice for you to tell me you had a tail before I jumped in the ocean after you,” Logan snarks dryly, his throat raw with pain and something else that makes it had to swallow around. 

“I didn’t actually expect you to do that. What happened to logically assessing every situation?” Roman smiles, his hand moving to silently grasping Logan’s hand mindful of the cords and medical supplies lined around him, surrounding him, encasing. It reminds him again but he narrows on the feel of his rough skin. It’s warm and pruned, salt still sticking to it even though he had obviously showered since then. There’s the thrum of his pulse under the skin, or maybe it’s the thrum of some dormant magic. Logan doesn’t know anymore. 

“That was before I found you have a tail.” 

“Oh please, you threw yourself off that cliff for me before you saw my lovely scales. Really dramatic by the way. Totally should have been an oscar winning performance.” 

“Oh please, you were already tossed off the cliff before you saw me jump fish boy,” Logan mocks. 

“Touche. And let us never call me fish boy again.

“Agreed. Did anyone else see you with a tail?” 

“No, I got out of there just before the people came. I watched behind some rocks as they took you away,” Roman explains.

Logan numbly nods. “Satisfactory. Now continue your well deserved explanation on what the  _ fuck  _ just happened,” he says and Logan waits a moment before hesitantly tacking a please to the end of it. To be polite. Roman’s eyes crinkle at the corners. It’s genuine. He opens his mouth and begins what he does best—he talks. And the story starts with a ‘once upon a time’.

 

**_________**

 

 

Roman tells a tale crafted by magic and salt. It’s his explanation, his story. 

It starts with a siren apart of a pod, but veering to close to both sides of land and water, veering to close to the midst of them both. The beach. As a means to stay protected themselves they cast him aside, leaving him stranded in the middle, where he’s later found by people with two legs and no tale. Soft flesh and no scales or calloused skin. 

He explains the hardships of adjusting to walking, and running, and swimming only so far while keeping control of himself. He explains how he found a nerd that loved the stars and Crofters, but disliked people and the beach. They became friends quickly enough and they went to be shore most days because Roman was born of the sea’s blood, and couldn’t stay away for long. Things were alright for a while—he was still stuck unsure if there were even bars keeping him there but afraid to reach out—but alright. . 

It wasn’t until scientists started to stick their noses into business not any of theirs with tells of strange sightings and stranger rocks and stranger scales. A storm started brewing underneath the sea’s surface, and he went to make sure it didn’t harm either sides. 

His friend chased him down, worrying and pleading for him not to be rash, and he ignored it until they both had been tossed and left to the ocean’s whims. 

Now they’re still alive, neither drowned. And the siren sits by his friend’s side wondering his reply.

 

**_________**

 

 

The black sand is warm and soft, falling under the weight of his feet and capturing his toes in a blanketed warmth. The waves try to reach him but never touch. Instead they clap against Roman’s skin covering him in the familiar salt that sticks to him, never clean.  He whoops loudly, cartwheeling through the splays of saltwater that splash up at him. 

It’s peaceful out; not empty as there’s one family watching their sons toss sand and present their mothers with decorated shells, and two girls sitting on a too small towel for the two of them watching as the sun is slowly dying. The sky is casted as a painting of purple, blue, and pink, the clouds softer than cotton candy. 

Roman stops and walks up to him, silently dusting sand from his knees and shins. “What a waste of a lovely night~” he hums in song from a soundtrack he’s been adamantly listening to recently. 

“I wouldn’t consider it a waste,” Logan replies. “It seems to be a good night to look at the stars later when it’s fully dark.” 

“Ooo, sneaking out are we? Logan Berry you heathen,” bites Roman with a grin. 

Logan snorts. “If you consider me a heathen for sneaking out to look at stars than would would you be considered as?” 

“I don’t know,” Roman sighs in thought. “Possibly some dashing prince that’s also incredibly handsome showing up fashionably late to parties with his noble adviser at his side.”

“What makes you think I would be your adviser?” 

“Well you don’t seem to be the sorcerer type so…” he drawls. “Maybe a knight but you’re not really a fighter. Perhaps the army general?” 

“That sounds the same as the knight. And I believed you once coined me as a warlock.” 

“Hmm, we’ll just have to think on it more later tonight when we sneak out because we’re heathens going to go look at stars.”  

“That is satisfactory.” 

A wave almost reaches him, and he almost flinches back but it misses his toes by a few inches before coming back to it’s home. They both watch it go in silence before picking up the conversation with a scoff and snark, a telling of nerd and prep. Plans for the future and this moment, jokes of things not real and tails made of pearls. 

Neither of them look back to the ocean that swallows the sun whole as they take of to Logan’s house hand in hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh this took so long to finish and there weren't even that many mermaid-y things in it
> 
> so thanks if you took the time to read the whole thing and let me know if there's anything else that needs to be tagged


End file.
